


By the Light of the Silvery Moon

by Delphi



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Drama, M/M, Painplay, Sexual Fantasy, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2012-09-22
Packaged: 2017-11-14 19:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/Delphi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When the weather turns cold in Republic City, he thinks of Noatak.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Light of the Silvery Moon

When the weather turns cold in Republic City, he thinks of Noatak.

The winters here hardly ever dip low enough to fog the breath, but it's a damp, oceanic cold that steals under clothes and into lungs. It permeates in a way the arctic chill of the North Pole never did. It creeps right into the blood.

Between the cool silk sheets of his palatial bed, Tarrlok remembers the roll of furs he shared with his brother when they were small: the bony nudge of Noatak's knees, the warm weight of an arm around him, and always, the steady pounding of his brother's heart as it moved the blood through his body in reassuring whispers.

 _Where are you?_ he thinks, rolling over in the darkness and watching the lazy snowflakes drift outside the window. 

His hand inches along his body beneath the covers, making his blood coalesce along the path he draws.

Sometimes he tries to imagine what Noatak would look like today. He searches the face of every Water Tribe man he meets, but they never hold what he seeks. He knows it before he hears their voices, before he sees the blankness in their eyes; blood calls to blood. 

His fingers flex, one hand playing the other like a puppet. The sensation is that of a limb falling asleep, at least until he twists. Then the pain flares, high and bright, making him gasp and shiver. He remembers the snow, and his father, and his brother. Agony the likes of which he had never felt before and has never felt again. The intimacy of Noatak's touch inside of him.

Water Tribe children learn young to be vigilant for the signs of hypothermia. Worry once when fingers and toes begin to tingle; worry twice when they stop. Bloodbending is, in a way, the opposite of freezing to death. Blood abandons the heart and the brain and floods the limbs, leaving sweet, dizzy breathlessness in its wake.

He twists each finger until their tips pulse and his knuckles crack. His wrist, his elbow, his shoulder—his breathing grows ragged and his sex swells. He pushes at his chest, and his heart skips a beat. Then his caresses move lower, turning mere arousal to a desperate ache.

His grip is urgent, stroking above and below both at once. The sensation bends to near-unbearable heights, and he wrenches the spending from himself so violently that the rush of semen over his stomach feels like the spill of an open wound.

He stops, his limbs sore and pulsating and his head swimming. 

They are ruled by blood, his line. They are ruled by blood the way that other waterbenders are ruled by the moon, but now it is only him, and no matter how many times he tries, his own hand does not feel as another's might.

 _Come back, brother_ , he thinks. He wipes the mess off himself onto the sheet and turns over again with a hollow sigh. _Come back to me._


End file.
